Rise of the Valkyrie
by GoGreen43
Summary: Wilda, the orphaned daughter of the famed Valkyrie of Rohan, receives a missive from Gandalf the Grey asking her to travel to Imladris for a Council and goes in Rohan's stead. She becomes the 10th Walker and learns what it really means to follow in her mother's footsteps and become the shieldmaiden she was always meant to be. (10th Walker Fic) (Eomer/OC? Aragorn/OC? Legolas/OC?)
1. Epigraph

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

-William Ernest Henley


	2. Death of a Valkyrie

**Rise of the Valkyrie**

**Chapter 1: The Death of a Valkyrie**

"Gandalf, you must tell her-"

"Nay, peace, my friend. You will be able to tell her yourself."

A cough rang out in the worn healer's tent as a tall willowy figure in grey stood above a pale blonde woman laying down on a rickety cot in the cold. Her coughs were only echoed by the howling wind that beat against the thick canvas of the tent.

The woman tried to hold in the coughs and did her best to save her energy to tell Gandalf what he needed to know. Blood was spewing from a wound in her left abdomen, and she did her best to hold a cloth over it to dispell the bleeding.

But she knew it would not do her any good.

Her hand slowly came off the cloth and she grabbed onto the grey wizard's arm desperately. "My Wilda, please, you must tell my Wilda what she shall know-"

"Hush, Hilda, hush," Gandalf cut her off once again, moving to sit at her side. He placed a hand over her wound and closed his eyes, feeling the magic of the Maiar run through his veins-

But Hilda of Rohan, the famed Valkaryie, a warrior Shieldmaiden, grabbed his hand in her own. She knew when a battle was worth fighting, but she also knew when a battle was worth surrendering.

This battle she was fighting was going to be her last.

"Gandalf-" she coughed. "My friend, you must tell my Wilda…" her voice rasped, before choking off into more coughs that were filled with blood. Red stained her lips, and iron her tongue.

The wizard, looking down at her bloody hands staining his own, let out a sigh. Hilda was not one to argue or fight against. Her stubbornness could overtake an entire army of dwarves, even if they were a descent of Durin himself.

"What must I tell her?"

Her breathing was now coming out in wheezes full of fluid. Gandalf did his best to keep her afloat from drowning in her own blood, but the wizard knew that would be the Valkaryie's final fate.

"Wilda… she must know…"

He took her shoulders, staining the dusty tan tunic she wore, red. "Hilda, tell me what your daughter shall know."

The shieldmaiden's dark eyes flickered. The wizard refused for her to go this quickly. He shook her shoulders, wringing her head back and forth at the movement. "What shall she know, Hilda?"

Her eyes were dimming. The tunnel surrounding her vision was getting narrower, entombing all that she was…

"_Hilda!"_

A cough, deep and guttural sounded out, and suddenly Hilda found strength she had not felt before. She whipped her head up and stared straight into the eyes of her friend. "Gandalf… I feel so cold…"

He looked down at her with melancholic eyes. "Yes, I know, dear one."

"Wilda will not be safe…" she took a deep, wheezing breath. "She will not be safe… not be safe in Rohan."

This was news for him. "Hilda, what do you mean? Why will Wilda not be safe in Rohan?"

She blinked.

Blood fell from the corner of her mouth.

"Nec… Necromancer," she rasped. "He will… he will know…"

Gandalf felt his face pale. "What of the Necromancer, Hilda? What do you know?"

Hilda did her best to stay awake. She really did. Gandalf had to know, he just had to… why had she kept quiet? Did she think she would live forever? She was a fool, she knew. She was a fool who now would kill her daughter for this mistake.

"Wit-Witch, a witch, witch Easterling-" she choked. Hilda could hear her words were blending together, but she was adamant he knew. So that one day Wilda would know. "Wilda will need to kill... " she coughed, "need to kill necro-necromancer…"

Her voice was barely coming out as a whisper, now.

Gandalf, eyes wide and face pale, gazed down upon his dear friend with a strong feeling of terror running through his veins. Wilda was but a child, how could a child do such things?

And if the Easterling Witch knew, the necromancer would know too.

"Why would Wilda need to kill the Necromancer, why shall Wilda perform this bidding?" he asked, bending down to ask into her ear. "Why Wilda?"

He leaned back over Hilda, as her lips grazed his ear, "So he…" a shallow breath, "so he will not kill… not kill her first…"

Gandalf pursed his lips.

Hilda took her last breath.

The grey wizard looked down upon his friend one last time and closed her unseeing eyes while whispering a prayer to the Valar.

Gandalf prayed for Hilda, may she find rest and peace in the halls of her forefathers. May Wilda find strength in the aftermath of becoming an orphan and find someone who she can lean on. May Rohan remain strong after the loss of their precious Valkyrie.

And may the Necromancer never learn of Wilda's fate.

For all their sakes.


	3. A Woman Among Men

**Rise of the Valkyrie**

**\\\ A Woman Among Men /**

Wilda, daughter of Hilda the famed shieldmaiden of the Eorlingas, found herself in the middle of a mass of men. Nay, she was not a woman who was begging for a suitor. She wasn't looking for a husband to take care of her, to give her babes.

She was among them, riding her beloved horse Wiglaf, charging with the Éored of the East-Mark under Éomer's command. The large horseman had always shrouded her every move, making sure she was up to the challenge of riding in his ranks. He pushed her harder than anyone else, something she despised him for.

The evening before, a band of orcs had been spotted just 12 around leagues east of Aldburg, her home, and right outside the Entwash river. Éomer determined they should ride out that next morning, to strike them with the light of day on their side.

He had been right, as a large band of orcs was blatantly clear just outside of the Entwash as their source had claimed.

Hildred, the carrier of the horn, let it sound. They were at battle.

She readied her bow, pulling back and letting it loose in the span of a breath. In and out. Another arrow, another target. Wilda knew to aim for the throat or eyes, promising death. The throat was easier, a larger target. But the eyes remained uncovered.

As soon as the orcs met the Éored head-on, she let herself continue to fire arrows as she was behind two rows of her fellow kinsmen. However, as soon as the orcs started to surpass them, she adapted to another kind of warfare.

_Næġling_, her sword gifted to her from her mother, sang once released from its sheath. Wiglaf, the ever-faithful steed, knocked down and trampled over anything that got in his path, allowing her to guard the sides and slash at any oncoming orcs he missed.

But this time, she wasn't so lucky.

"_Wilda!" _One of her companions cried out, just before she felt a sudden pain in her leg.

She cursed, forcing herself to ignore the sting of the orc's jagged blade before slicing off its head with _Næġling _in one fell swipe. Anger fueled her for the next onslaught of orcs, but she quickly grew tired.

_Blood loss._

Her grip tightened on her sword. She wouldn't let herself bow out now. Not when her kin needed her. Wilda quickly scanned the field, slicing a path of orcs as Wiglaf moved through with her kin around her.

To the right, she noticed an orc sneaking to an uncovered flank of one of the men. "Laerig! Drop!" She screamed, sheathing her sword and angling her bow in the span of two breaths.

One.

The orc got even closer, but luckily Laerig seemed to have heard her voice amongst the chaos.

Two.

He flung himself forward and moved his chest to the neck of his horse, just in time for Wilda to get the shot just right.

An arrow, straight and narrow, nailed the orc in its right eye.

Laerig looked at the orc and back at Wilda in shock, evident to the eyes of a skilled markswoman. She spared him a nod, then scanned the field once more as the number of orcs started to diminish. A few arrows later, and the number was even lower.

Éomer's bark cut through the field. "Wilda, right!"

Using the arrow she pulled from her quiver, she turned to her right and stabbed an oncoming orc in the throat. The black blood fanned out and spattered, spitting across her face and some sank into her mouth that was still open in shock.

It was a taste she could have lived her entire life and not cared to experience, but alas, here she was.

She turned her head back to the left to see Éomer looking at her with daggers in his eyes, but he quickly averted his gaze to finish off the orcs. His kill count must have been far more than what any other member of the Éored had, considering how he slaughtered the beasts with deadly ease.

Had she not known him to have mischief hidden in his eyes, she would have thought him a cold-hearted man, not just a fierce warrior.

Éomer was well-against Wilda from acting as a shieldmaiden in his ranks, as she knew well. He thought that if she continued to fight, then Éowyn, his sister, would soon gain the right to do the same. That was the last thing that he wanted if Wilda had learned anything from the angry tirades he had about that topic.

A part of Wilda thought he saw her like a sister, another woman that should be under his protection. But she didn't need an egotistical elder brother to protect her. She had to uphold her family honor and fight just as her mother did.

"Gather the bodies, we will burn them in groups," Éomer grunted, as the remaining members of the Éored gathered together after the orcs were completely killed. The healers who fought with us quickly moved to help the injured as soon as Éomer disbanded the men.

"Wilda, you are with me," the Third Marshal of the Riddermark spoke, and she immediately cursed underneath her breath. She knew Éomer wouldn't let it be that she had nearly been sliced up like a chicken.

However little she wanted to be reprimanded by him _again_, Wilda knew she had little choice since the man was in charge. She prodded Wiglaf toward the Lord, who was sitting there astride his mighty Meara descent Firefoot, a horse who had a habit of scaring the other horses (and riders) senseless.

"Yes, Third Marshal?"

The golden-haired, dark-eyed Horse Lord stared her down imperiously. "Bema save us if you are to be the next _Valkyrie_," he mocked. "What do you believe you were doing out there? You nearly had yourself killed, let alone-"

Wilda couldn't contain herself. "I am just as good as anyone else in this Éored-"

He grunted. "You are a danger to yourself and the others more than anyone I have ever met."

She scowled, looking deep into the dark eyes of her Third Marshal. "You do not believe that, and we both know it _Lord Éomer._"

His arms crossed and immediately dropped down from Fleetfoot, before reaching out and dragging Wilda down off Wiglaf to fall to his level. "This is serious, Wilda. You are not cut out to be here."

She winced at the feeling the gash on her leg after being forced to put weight on it but gritted her teeth to hide that weakness from the proud Horse Lord. "If it were up to you, your sister and I would have never been trained in the art of fighting," she scolded. "It does not matter whether I am a woman or a man, and you will not take my destiny away from me."

The glare angled down toward her could have sent lesser men running. "Do not bring _my sister_ into this."

Wilda scoffed, crossing her own arms in front of her chest but made one fatal mistake. She leaned on one leg, which happened to be the one an orc caught in the scuffle. This time, Éomer did not miss the wince at her movement.

The glare immediately wavered off and fell into a look of worry mixed with confusion. There was a dent between his darkened eyebrows that always showed up in times like these. "What? What is wrong?"

She pursed her lips, looking down at her leg as though it had betrayed her. Which, arguably, it had. "Just a scrape from an orc, there's nothing wrong."

His eyebrows raised. "Nothing wrong? You don't wince for _nothing_, now that is something we both can agree on."

Wilda let out a heavy breath. "It's just a scrape, Lord Éomer."

He let out a low grunt. "I can be the judge of that."

Before she could do anything to stop him or move out of the way, he was suddenly kneeling in the dirt before her like a common beggar, moving his hand along her thigh to search for what was ailing her.

"Wilda…"

She huffed. "I am fine-"

His hand moved the fabric away from the wound, and Wilda immediately hissed at the feeling of it being pulled away from the jagged flesh.

"This is not what one should ever call a mere _scrape_, you mad woman," Éomer stated, letting out a firm sigh before looking up and scanning the fields. "We need to find you a healer, then you are going back home."

Her eyes narrowed down at the blond. "What do you mean, go home? I am a part of this Éored, whether you-"

He looked at her sternly and stood in front of her adding to the imperiousness that he upheld. "You have no claim in this Éored, and I am the Third Marshal who leads you, Wilda of Aldburg. If I tell you to go home, you will be going home."

She swallowed the spit pooling in her mouth and her hands turned to fists at her sides. "You cannot do this, Lord Éomer-"

His sharp gaze cut her off. "I can and I will. You will be heading to Medesuld to be with my sister, where she will teach you how to act like a Lady of your house and standing."

Wilda snorted, rolling her eyes at the man. "Like Éowyn would make me do such a thing. She hates the finery as much as I do."

He raised a brow. "Then the two of you will sulk off in the fine gowns the courts shall expect you to wear together."

She scowled. "You should not do this, you will only be aiding the evil in this world by not letting me train alongside you men. I need to be ready-"

"For what?" He seethed. "Do you not think that we will do our duties and keep the women and children safe?"

"No, you are merely placing words in my mouth!"

"Then go to Medesuld and do whatever it is that Ladies learn to do."

Wilda groaned, nearly stomping out her frustrations into the mudded ground. "You are absolutely despicable! The prophecy was given and states that I will have to face whoever this Necromancer is-"

A wry grin drifted along Éomer's features. "Prophecy? I will not place my men in the hands of some words stated from an old hag years ago."

Her glare sliced into his own. "You will regret this."

The large man looked down upon the woman who he once called a friend. Now, she had become a thorn right in his backside. "I will never regret keeping you from harm, Wilda."

Her jaw tightened, and her words seethed through her teeth, "That is not a decision for you to make, _Lord Éomer._"

The smirk in reply goaded her. "You are not the Third Marshal of the Mark, you mad woman. I am, and this is what I am ordering you to do." Éomer turned on his heel and mounted Firefoot with elvish ease. "Halfrin and Laerig will be accompanying you back to Edoras. I do wish you the best, my friend."

She grimaced up at the man. "You cannot treat me this way and call me a friend, Horse Lord."

His accompanying grin reminded her of a distant time. "I will do what I want, you mad woman."

Wilda felt something tighten in her chest as the golden-haired man rode off to join the others a part of the Éored. Like he had told her, the two scouts that now were her bodyguards were left behind and trotted atop their steeds to get to her side.

"We shall be there by nightfall if we leave now," Laerig told her, a knowing look glimmering in his eyes. "I am sorry that you are so distressed, but I do believe he is doing what he thinks is right-"

"What he thinks to be right is hogwash!" Wilda exclaimed, her eyes locked onto the ashy horse and its rider that continued off and through the winding fields. "I cannot stand that man."

Halfrin, a young brunet, and a rather strapping lad looked down at her with a half-hearted grin. "You at least will be in good company with the Lady Éowyn at your side."

Wilda sighed and used her good leg to climb up on the saddle of Wiglaf. "Yes, but that also means I will be stuck with the _Worm_."

The two riders shifted in their saddles. "You should be careful who you say that to, Lady Wilda," Laerig warned, his blue eyes widening in earnestness. "My sister claimed one of the Lords who dared speak up against him found his throat cut the next morn."

Wilda hummed in acknowledgment and clicked her tongue to get Wiglaf into place. Yes, she had heard that too. He was a dear friend of her mother's old stablehand, who came to her with the news.

Her back straightened. It was time someone dealt with the Worm, and if Éomer was making her go back to Edoras, she might as well get something out of it.


	4. When in Edoras

**Readers,**

**This chapter took me a long time to write. I hope you all enjoy and are staying safe! **

**XOXO Ally Layne.**

**Rise of the Valkyrie **

**\\\ When In Edoras /**

The ride to the capitol was a long and frustrating one, as Wilda continued to seethe in anger at what her Marshal had the audacity to do to her. How dare he make her leave the ranks? How dare he decide that she was not worthy of her mother's claim? Who did he think he was?

Of course, he was the Third Marshal of the Eorlingas, but that didn't mean much in Wilda's eyes. He was hardly worthy of the title if this is how he overreacted to having a female in his ranks.

"Is that annoyance or bloodlust in your eyes, Wilda?" Halfrin asked, a gleam of mischief winking throughout his frame.

Wilda looked to her side, where Halfrin was riding and growled lightly. "You should know, Halfrin. These eyes have shown you the same many times before."

Laerig laughed. "She's right, lad, I swear that woman has had your bollocks in a knot more than anyone could count."

Wilda didn't have to look at Halfrin to know that he was pouting. "Get over it, Halfrin. It's a part of growing up with strong Ladies like myself and Éowyn that has allowed you to be the warrior you are."

Halfrin laughed at her words. "You have that right."

The Hall of Meduseld soon became in their sight once the sun had started to sink and fall to the west. "Welcome home," Wilda muttered to herself. She wasn't pleased to have to come back, but there was always a giddy feeling she felt when the great hall was in her sights.

With the hall, a fine young woman standing upon the barracks looked down upon them. Her golden hair whipped and her green dress billowed under the winds command. She was the jewel of her family, the light of all the men in her life.

Éowyn.

Wilda looked up at her friend and waved with a large smile up at the woman who had started to laugh in glee. "Wilda! It _is _you!"

Éowyn immediately disappeared from sight, only to return moments later as she ran out of the doors to the halls to greet them at the stables. "Éowyn!"

Wilda quickly leaped off Wiglaf, ignoring the pain in her leg and patted her steed gratefully before hurrying toward her friend. The two women met in a crushing embrace, giggles taking over Wilda's normally stoic frame as she was finally in the presence of one of her greatest friends.

"How have you been?" Wilda asked as she pulled from the other woman to hold her at shoulder length. "How is the King?"

Éowyn looked into Wilda's eyes sadly. "Things have changed much since you left, my friend."

Wilda turned to look at Halfrin and Laerig, who were quietly getting their horses properly cared for before leaving them to the hands of the stable boys. "What do you mean?" She asked softly.

Éowyn looked over her shoulder to see two guards standing at the doors to the main hall of Meduseld. "It is not the King who holds the power, anymore."

"The worm?"

The nod in response was all Wilda needed to understand what was going on. Her lips pursed. This was not good news. Not at all.

"Lady Éowyn," Halfrin spoke as he walked toward the two women. "It is always lovely to see your beautiful complexion."

Wilda tilted her head. "Am I not enough for you, scamp?"

Éowyn rolled her eyes under Halfrin's joking gaze. "I wish I could say the same to you, but you look like you have just been run over by a dozen horses."

The shieldmaiden snickered at her friend's expense. "She has a point, Halfrin. You do look like you've been trampled given the state of your dress and being."

Halfrin was currently covered in muck from head to toe, due to the battle they had found themselves in before Éomer sent them to Edoras. He never was given the chance to righten himself afterward, even though Wilda and Laerig seemed to be able to handle themselves well enough.

"I would never dare try to upstage you, my Lady," he told Éowyn, before turning to eye Wilda in annoyance. "And you're the one who was stabbed in the leg, so I would be quiet if I were you."

"Why would you tell her that?" Wilda hissed, just as Éowyn seemed to have processed Halfrin's words.

"You were stabbed?" she exclaimed, closing the gap between her and Wilda in two quick strides. She leaned down and ignored the mud staining her dress as she inspected the leg that Wilda hadn't put any weight upon.

She let out a hiss at Éowyn's prodding and poking while casting a glare at Halfrin. "This is unnecessary," she spoke, refusing to let the pain waver her voice.

"Well, it certainly does not look to be fine," Éowyn told her, then looked over to Halfrin and Laerig who were standing there smugly. "Help her to the healers, this wound needs to be checked out."

Wilda scoffed. "All I need is a bath and sleep. I am tired and need to be clean, that's all."

Éowyn didn't believe her. "I know you too well for you to be able to lie to me, my friend. Sirs, if you would?"

At her beckoning, Laerig and Halfrin walked up behind Wilda and scooped her arms up and around their shoulders, and began carrying her to the healing halls. Wilda never felt more like a bumbling fool than she did at that moment.

"I will meet you there, Wilda!" Éowyn exclaimed as she took another path toward the royal quarters.

Even though she was angry Éowyn was forcing her to go see the healers, she still was secretly pleased that this wouldn't be the last she'd see of her friend.

Wilda smacked Halfrin on the back of his head as soon as Éowyn disappeared from sight.

"Owe! What was that for?"

She rolled her eyes. "For being a pain in my ass, of course."

Laerig snorted. "And here I was beginning to mistake you as a woman of status."

"Shut up, Laerig."

By the time the two riders had carried her to the healing halls, Éowyn was already waiting there with another guest. "Théodred!"

The blond prince of the Rohirrim's lips tugged up in a smile as he looked at her with a knowing gaze. "I told you to come back in one piece, Wilda."

She rolled her eyes. "I am sure my body is completely intact."

He chuckled warmly before reaching out to assist her into a cot within the healing quarters. "I am sure Éowyn and I can help our friend from here, Sirs Laerig and Halfrin. You are dismissed, so please go see your families." Theodred looked to Halfrin in particular. "I know that they have missed you very much."

Halfrin's cheeks reddened at the mention of his family- namely, his mother, the head maid of his Meduseld. She kept the halls clean and seamless like a tight ship, something everyone has always greatly appreciated. However, the only thing that prided her more than how well she ran things was her son.

Wilda said her goodbyes to Laerig and Halfrin, thanking them for escorting her here safely, and watched as they walked off before turning back to quietly check out the healer's quarters.

She carefully avoided looking at the burn marks that still riddled the ceilings of the room from just a year after her birth. Those memories were too dark to remember this day.

There were five cots lined up along a wall with just enough space in between them for two people to move freely. On the other side of the room, there were many shelves holding various healing texts, dried herbs, roots, and stems that would be used for various concoctions.

A long table full of notes and written journals from older healers separated the two areas, with ample space for plenty of people to walk around. The only light in the ward came from the plethora of candles that were lit in the room, giving off the smell of melting wax with the faint fragrance of lavender from where it sat in a jar.

"Hello, Wilda," Dorcas, the second-ranked healer in these halls spoke. The young, dark-haired former Gondorian walked quickly into the halls, giving Éowyn and Théodred proper curtsies in their midst. "I was told you had received a wound while riding under Lord Éomer?"

From the corner of her eye, Wilda noticed that both Théodred and Éowyn shifted at the familiar name. "It was merely a scratch," she half-heartedly recollected. "It is nothing to fuss over, I swear."

Dorcas stood at the foot of her cot and tilted her head slyly. "We both know that a _mere scratch _to you is more like a deadly wound to someone else."

Wilda ignored the chuckles that sounded out from the others in the room. "Well, why don't you just take a look and see."

Dorcas took a knife and made a clear cut up her pant leg, while Théodred politely distracted his gaze. However, when Éowyn let out a large gasp at the sight, his eyes snapped directly to the wound and he let out a low groan.

The skin surrounding the wound made from the jagged orc blade was yellow and crusted over with different strands of black that followed underneath her skin, lining the blood vessels perfectly. The wound itself had puss and had become dirty from the trail back to Edoras as it wasn't properly kept.

Wilda felt her heart sink. She could have lost her leg if she didn't do anything. And it would've been because of her stubborn pride.

"Wilda…" Théodred voiced riddled with an air of worry and anger. "You are smarter than this. Why did you not take care of it?"

Dorcas wordlessly handed Wilda a bottle of medicine that she knew would help her with the pain she knew she would be experiencing. If her leg is to be anywhere back to normal, she would have to cut off the infected skin so the rest of it can heal properly.

It was going to hurt like a bitch.

"Where is Hermod?" Wilda asked Dorcas, blatantly ignoring Théodred's questions.

"He is with the King, administering the medicine for His Majesty. Unfortunately, it is a tedious process that often takes many hours to monitor," Dorcas explained.

Théodred wrung his hands together as Éowyn took a seat at Wilda's side, moving to hold her hand. "Should I go fetch him? Perhaps see if someone else is able to monitor my father? You will have to cut her skin off, right? I have heard it being done before-"

"Théodred, it is fine," Wilda cut him off with a wave of her unused hand. She turned back to look at Dorcas sternly. "Do you believe you can do this?"

Dorcas shrugged. "I have done it before over a much larger span of infected skin. I do not think this should take too long or be too difficult."

A wary smile struggled onto Wilda's lips as she nodded. "Good."

Théodred continued to look down at her with worried eyes. "Are you sure about this, Wilda?"

The shieldmaiden gestured down at her bum leg. "I do not exactly have a choice, my Lord."

He huffed at the formality but moved to take the other side of the cot. "I will help make sure you do not endanger yourself by struggling too much," he told her, turning to Dorcas. "Tell me if you feel she needs to be restrained."

Wilda rolled her eyes again as Dorcas nodded to her liege Lord, before gesturing for Wilda to take her drink. "Bottoms up, shieldmaiden."

The next hour was spent in blood, screams, and misery.

Dorcas was successful with her mini surgery to Wilda's leg, which was great because Wilda's initial wound was not deep enough to cause any problems when digging out the contaminated flesh.

The wound was cauterized and bandaged up with the use of various herbs and sterilized bandages that Wilda forced Dorcas to ensure was clean thrice before using. She wouldn't be so quick to not be careful with her body after something like this.

"Will you stop taking life-threatening injuries lightly, now?" Éowyn asked as she helped Wilda clean herself with a sponge bath. "I have to admit I would not be mad if I never saw you in the healing halls again."

Wilda looked up at the burn marks again. "I would not be mad, either." She turned to see Éowyn's worried eyes gazing down on her. "I already told Hermod before I left that I would apprentice under him if I was forced back from the Éored."

The young woman sighed. "I am sorry my brother made you leave."

"It is not you that is at fault, Éowyn. If anything, it was because I was too self-indulgent and took too many risks. It was certainly not because of you."

The Lady looked down at Wilda's bandaged leg. "Was Éomer truly worried for you?" She looked into Wilda's blue eyes. "Or did he send you away because you were a nuisance?"

She blinked. "He told me to see a healer, which I did not do. I was too enraged at his reaction to my actions that I completely forewent doing anything he wanted me to do."

Éowyn nodded to herself ash she wiped some of the dirt off of Wilda's back. "I hope he has not been too horrible to you after what you have confessed to him," she spoke, sending a shudder down Wilda's spine at the reference. "He should be more careful-"

"I should have been more careful than to have announced my feelings to him when he was obviously not feeling anything in return," Wilda cut her off. "I should not have placed him in that precarious situation, and our friendship had suffered because of it."

"It was not foolish to believe my brother had feelings for you," Éowyn assured. "Théordred, his closest friend and brother, even believed the same thing."

Wilda slowly got herself dressed into a nightdress that her friend had brought from her rooms for her. "Nevertheless, I still should not have dared to hope. Someone like him… he is far more suited for someone of higher status. Just as you and Théodred are."

Éowyn furrowed her brows. "Now, _that _is a foolish thought to have. Wherever did you get that idea from?"

She sighed, leaning back against the pillows of the cot that had beckoned her name. "Nowhere, and everywhere." Wilda looked at Éowyn with a low smile. "But nothing will ever change our friendship."

Éowyn's answering smile was radiant. "Of course not. We are sisters, after all."

Wilda smiled, as her eyelids started to gain weight and slowly fell shut. _"Sisters."_


	5. The Art of Resilience

**Hey there Readers!**

**Thank you all so much for being there and willing to give me critiques and feedback on these chapters, it makes me a better and more experienced writer! I am thankful for all of you; please let me know if you have any questions/comments/feedback on this story or any of my stories! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**XOXO Ally Layne**

**Rise of the Valkyrie**

**Chapter 4: The Art of Resilience**

The next day Wilda was brought to her chambers with the help of two soldiers that she recognized as being the personal guards of the royal family. Sometimes it helps when you have good friends in the right places.

Needless to say, she was wise in befriending Éowyn and Théodred when she first was brought to Meduseld to stay as the King's ward after her mother was killed.

It was when she was finally in her chambers after so long of being gone that she was finally questioned by the man she despised most in all of Arda. At least, the only man she would find pleasure in torturing slowly for the horrible things he was putting her friend though.

When Grima Wormtongue walked through the doors of her chambers, he was alone. He had chosen a perfect time when Mireth, one of Éowyn's Lady's maids who has stepped in to help care for Wilda, went on a small break to eat.

Wilda was alone. With her leg completely carved into as it was, there would be no chance of escape. She was given a numbing agent that worked well enough so she couldn't feel her leg, so she couldn't depend on it for any sort of stability.

"I heard that you found your way back into these halls," the Worm said as he and all his greasiness walked closer to her, the black cloak he wore flowing around his feet.

Wilda scowled. "I heard that you've been trying to get Éowyn to sleep with you, but apparently that hasn't been going so well."

His beady eyes narrowed down at the shieldmaiden. "So that is what she has been telling you, hm? Well, that is certainly not what the King has been hearing. If anything, Éowyn has been throwing herself at me in some rather unladylike behaviors."

Her scowl deepened as her chin jutted out in defiance. "As soon as I get out of this bed I swear you will no longer be able to lay with any woman, even if you were somehow able to persuade a woman to pervert herself in such a manner."

The Worm's answering cackle was disturbing, speaking to the power that he had obtained when she was away. How could Théodred allow this to happen?

"I heard you were exiled from the Third Marshal's Éored," he mocked. "That is certainly shocking when one takes into account that you are meant to be the next _Valkyrie. _Apparently the bar has sunk rather low for such a thing to be possible."

Wilda rolled her eyes. "You are late in trying to taunt me about such things, _Worm_."

His lips curved into a nasty smile. "Why, yes, a little bird informed me that it was the Third Marshal himself that said you are… what? A danger to others? Too reckless to be a part of the Éored?"

She flinched at the harsh words that Éomer had once spat at her.

As though she was undeserving of the honor that has been passed down from her mother's line. As though she was unworthy. Not good enough.

"What is going on here?" Éowyn's sharp tone echoed throughout Wilda's chambers.

Wilda looked at her friend, visibly enraged. "The Worm was just telling me that you've been throwing yourself at him in some unladylike manners. Care to explain, Lady Éowyn?"

Éowyn looked at her friend with raised brows, then turned slowly to look at the Worm with narrowed eyes. "Is this true?"

Grima pursed his lips and glared at Wilda instead of choosing to answer the woman. "You are going to regret ever daring to cross me, _child_."

Wilda rolled her eyes as he then took his chance to storm out of the room.

Éowyn looked at her in confusion and concern. "How long was he here?"

She sighed. "Long enough to get a good mocking in before you were able to show."

"Where's Merith?"

"I sent her on a small break to grab food. She shouldn't be back in too long, now," Wilda explained, crossing her arms as she laid further back into the plush pillows.

Luckily, Théodred walked in quickly with the King's guard captain, Sir Elfhelm, at his side. "Wilda, are you well? We just noticed that Grima had walked from here."

Éowyn placed her hands on her hips. "How do you ever allow him to have the power that he does in the court?"

Her cousin looked slightly offended. "Grima happens to be currently the closest advisor to the King, even including me."

Wilda scoffed. "There's no way that's true, Théodred. We all know that your father loves you more than life itself. Possibly even more than this great Kingdom. He has always treasured you immeasurably."

Théodred looked out the window. Wilda noticed that a look of pain flashed across his face, but he kept it well hidden for the others. "My father does not care to listen to a word I speak, Wilda. You have not been here to bear witness to it."

Éowyn sighed. "He's right, unfortunately," she admitted. "Even I have seen it. It is as if he does not care for us anymore. Only his power."

The shieldmaiden's eyebrows rose.

"There is something evil stirring in Meduseld," Elfhelm added. His long blonde hair fit in with the rest of the Rohirrim in the room, as did his massive figure. However, Wilda could tell that he was still far smaller in size than Éomer, but she had yet to meet someone who dwarfed the Third Marshal.

Éowyn looked at Wilda slyly. "It sounds like a mission for the Valkyrie."

She scoffed. "Of course, even though we all know I have no superior Valkyrie traits. It's like the whole powers from Bema decided to just skip a generation."

The three other inhabitants in the room looked between each other warily. "Perhaps we could compromise. All you need is to continue to develop your skills, Wilda, you are still so young…" Éowyn started, but Wilda cut her off with a raised hand.

"My mother was leading armies by the time she was my age. I can hardly even remain amongst an Éored. How could I ever become anything like the warrior she was? This is something that she would have been able to stop. Not me."

Théodred crossed his arms. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and start being willing to change what you've been doing to become a stronger warrior."

Wilda blinked.

"We all know that you will now have to work at the healers. I do not think that I know one who is not aware of you being forced to work under Hermod if you had returned from being a rider."

She huffed. "I have no desire to work under Hermod any longer than I was forced to when I was younger."

Éowyn giggled behind her hands. "I remember you would have to be dragged from your rooms when you would have to go act as Hermod's apprentice."

"Thank Bema he found Dorcas, or I would have never been allowed to ride."

Théodred looked between Wilda and Elfhelm with a small twinkle in his eye. "That solves this. You need to continue to train, you are meant to fight for Rohan. Elfhelm and I will help train you as soon as you are able in the mornings before you need to report to Herod."

Wilda gaped. "You would do that?"

He smiled dearly at her. "You are like the younger sister I was never blessed enough to receive from the Valar. Of course, I would. You are to be my future ally, after all."

Silver lined her eyes.

"Thank you. I will not let you down."

.

.

.

.

Weeks later, Wilda found herself wearing her training gear which encompassed some minor movable chainmail, vanguards, shin guards, and extra padding around her thighs. She was sweating as she stood in front of the two armed men, her own sword, _Næġling_, in hand.

"Wilda, you keep leaving your left open for attack when you swipe right," Théodred insisted. "You need to keep yourself tighter and more align with your swing."

Elfhelm nodded in agreement. "Could be a deadly mistake if your enemy gets wind of it."

She huffed out a breath. "Okay. Again?"

Théodred nodded, walking forward to take his own position in front of her. "Start at your will, Lady _Valkyrie."_

She rolled her eyes at his sly comment and started to move, pacing right and slowly crossing her feet over the other, watching as Théodred did the same in front of her.

They were circling each other in a defensive stance, just as one does their prey.

After a moment, she attacked. She feigned one way, then quickly lunged the other to strike, but Théodred had anticipated her move as soon as she started to balance her weight. He blocked the attack with his own sword, kicking her back another meter to then counter.

She watched as he then spun, slashing with his sword to strike hers, the power of the swipe strong enough to force Wilda to take a step backward.

The shieldmaiden used this moment as a short reprieve before Théodred moved to attack again. "Watch your left!" he shouted before he launched himself into another set of movements.

Wilda blocked them all, ending his slew of swipes with an attack of her own. However, as soon as she slashed her sword to the right, she realized he had been baiting her.

He spun, avoiding her blow, then countered with his own attack on her left side, catching her off balance, and used the middle of his sword to reach down near to her hilt and rotated his wrists to dislodge _Næġling _from her hands.

It flew to the ground, and his sword moved up to point to her neck. "Yield."

Rolling her eyes, she raised her hands in the air. "I yield."

Théodred nodded, and moved to grab her sword, handing it back to her earnestly. "You need to learn how to keep your balance when moving to the right. When you go to the right with your sword, you're not balanced enough to block an attack to the left following that."

She pursed her lips. "How do I do that?"

Elfhelm walked over to her side, clasping her shoulder with one of his large, meaty hands. "We will show you."

Théodred smiled. "Do not worry too much, Wilda. Most people don't last this long against me."

She found herself rolling her eyes again at the prince. "Well, most people are too afraid of hurting you because your father is the King. I could care less, _Prince_ Théodred."

Elfhelm choked out a laugh when Théodred pouted. "That is not true and you know it."

Wilda hummed. "Whatever you say, Prince."

He continued to look at her with blatant annoyance. "Stop pestering me and let us get back to training. You still can't defend your left side, and I know when you get back to riding in an Éored you are going to need to have that defensive movement down."

She blinked. "You think I can still join an Éored? Even after Éomer forced me to return to Edoras?"

Elfhelm raised his brows. "If Éomer doesn't take you I certainly will let you join the Kingsguard. Lady Éowyn would most likely prefer it if you stay here, anyway."

Wilda sighed but smiled at the captain. "I would take you up on it, but I happen to enjoy riding my horse and roaming to help others of Rohan while stopping the orc packs from hurting my people."

Théodred smiled knowingly. "As the Valkyries have always done."

She nodded intently. "Indeed."

Elfhelm tilted his head toward Théodred. "Then what are you waiting for? Again!"

By the time she finished training with the two warriors, she learned how to defend her left side. Even though it took her many, many times to get it right, and might have ended up being late to breakfast with Halwyn because of her stubbornness, yet, in Wilda's mind it all seemed to go to plan.

She was going to ride again, whether Éomer wanted her to or not.

She was meant to be the Valkyrie, and so she would become.


End file.
